The Things Going on in Aspertia These Days
by MisterBland1
Summary: "In the world inhabited by pokémon, phenomena ranges from majestic to stupid. No working around it; dealing with the obnoxious is as common as coexisting with the amazing. As some would say, 'you can't get the Entei without the luvdisc.'" My idea of pokémon: how they speak, how they interact, how they change, and how they cope. Contains minor dark & racy themes. A parody-ish tale.
1. Tyrell Versus an Essay

**Tyrell Versus an Essay**

In the world inhabited by pokémon, phenomena ranged from majestic to stupid.

No workarounds, no negotiations, no excuses; dealing with the obnoxious was as common as coexisting with the amazing. As some would say, "you can't get the Entei without the luvdisc," Or, "you can't cop a feel without the restraining order." Perhaps even, "if quitting a drug didn't result in withdrawal, I could totally imagine myself as a functioning cocaine addict - like Sherlock Holmes!" All equally true in their own right, as one unsuspecting basketball player from the boondocks of Unova would soon find out.

For Tyrell, a small town boy living in a lonely world, an incredibly contrived event rested on the dirt road back home.

In an occurrence unnatural in itself, the boy still had a walkman. It ate CDs and spat out retrospective, causing the listener to bounce uncontrollably. Most of his CDs consisted of soul music that one would follow the title by saying "you've probably never heard of them." If Tyrell was not Tyrell, Tyrell would be a walkman (a paper he wrote in first grade said so).

Spotting the aforementioned event, Tyrell removed his headphones and put them around his neck. He stopped his track and in his tracks, checking out the crowd in front of him.

Usually the townsfolk of Aspertia avoided congregating like this unless something was on sale. Whatever it was, it brought in all sorts of demographics - the elderly, parents, young girls and boys, and even the weird middle-aged punk rocker that slept under the city limits sign. That meant only one thing: pokémon handlers. They came by every month or so, usually opening up right outside of town. It couldn't have picked a worse day to relocate itself.

Tyrell adjusted his backpack and kept his head down. "Come on man," he told himself, "you've got an essay to finish. Getting distracted now would be some ill turbulence..."

"Haha, did someone say _ill__ turbulence?_" The man who emerged from the back of the crowd was either the monopoly guy or Tyrell's old friend Whiskers. Both were stout men with a fetish for earnings, but the monopoly guy probably smelt less like cigars. "I only know one bucko who talks like that, and it's my main man Tyrell!" He twisted his mustache with one hand and grabbed the bucko's shoulder with the other.

"Yo," Tryell said. "I really can't get caught up in this. If I don't revise my essay for tonight, my teacher will say I'm not applying myself. He'll start crying again."

"What happened to you, boy? Damn that essay and damn those concerned teachers, I'm pretty sure the last time we met you desperately wanted a pokémon."

Tyrell told him to talk to the hand without even saying anything. It worked on most door-to-door salesmen (and strangely enough, telemarketers), but a determined capitalist like Whiskers wouldn't be swayed by gestures alone. "That was two years ago," he answered. "I'm about to get a job up in Virbank, on the docks. Maybe I'll learn how to work on a fishing boat, eventually. It's a rad life."

"Boy, the only dangerous catch you'll be getting over in Virbank is the poor and the boredom! Why follow those folks in their poor lifestyles, when a single pokémon could get you the easy life?" It was unclear, then, whether Whiskers saw poorness as a disease, lifestyle, or a sick lifestyle. Knowing Whiskers, it was the latter. A strange outlook in the world for a man who lived his life encouraging reckless spending._  
_

"I'm just not interested in training," Tyrell admitted. "Besides, it'd take a miracle for my grades to get high enough, especially when- yo, why am I telling you this? Can't we just talk about the weather or something?"

The handler patted his shoulder and sighed. "It's not your fault, lad. You're instinctively listing your inner conflicts, so you can break them down!" Tyrell didn't buy it, so Whiskers relented. As the hip boy slid his headphones back on again, though, Whiskers caught a second wind. the man's beady eyes followed his client.

"Fine, fine. But if you aren't going to get a battling pokémon... I'm obligated by my love of money to sell you a domestic pokémon."

That warranted a double take. "Whoa," Tyrell breathed, "one of the handlers brought domestics this far?" Pokémon sold by handlers, separated into battlers and domestics, were best imagined as squares and rectangles. All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares - so it was with battlers and domestics. The idea of owning a pokémon for simple luxury was lost on a small town like Aspertia; anything a domestic could do, a battler did it better.

Prideful of his stock, Whiskers smiled and clasped his hands together. "I did, my friend!" He threw open his burgundy jacket, revealing a pokéball stuffed into the inside pocket. "Where your childlike wonder ran off to and died is your business, but selling you this opportunity is _mine_, lad. A prime, male mienshao at a premium price!"

"Wait, but domestic pokémon usually dislike battling... and a mienshao is a fighting type. How does that work?"

"Obviously you're a bit better off in school than you think! Like I said, premium price, 235,000 pokédollars. Take it or leave it, pal, I really am trying to cut you a deal. An exotic pokémon like this could easily fetch millions."

For almost a year now, Tyrell had set aside a fund for an occasion like this... never had he imagined such an opportunity popping up on his way home from school. He preferred no one pokémon over the other, just as long as it could fit in his house and didn't do anything too strange. "I'm too young to be making a purchase this large on impulse... but man, I can't just pass this up!" He whipped out his I.D, which also acted as a credit card and fingernail cleaner. "Take it out of my 'pokémon fund'."

Whiskers pulled out a tiny I.D register and put in the info. He turned the register's display around so Tyrell could put his finger print on it, and then returned the I,D. Spending nearly 235,000 of the big ones so quickly - not as exorbitant as it initially looks, however - was made easy by the Unovan system. It was so quick to process, in fact, that the pokéball exchanged hands just a few seconds later.

"You'll never regret this purchase, boy. A pokémon is the best friend a guy can get." Leathery and large, Whisker's gloved hand made the pokéball's presentation even more tantalizing. Tyrell placed his own hand on the ball to take it. As soon as the tips of his fingers brushed over the top half, a blinding light and ringing coursed through him.

It continued on for several more seconds, until iffy afterimages of the big man himself appeared. "Tyrell, main man, you know how much I hate medical bills..."

The ringing took longer to end, and when it did left Tyrell sitting in strange clarity. The pokéball was in his hand, too. He gave Whiskers a vacant glance.

"Phew!" Whiskers bellowed out a relieved laugh. "Are you okay?"

A few blinks and Tyrell finally felt some sense returning to him. The crowd he never noticed staring at him went back to their own business. "What just happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, this ball's just an incredibly old model - working, but old. Like mine!"

"I'm not going to respond to that, man. Come on."

"I mean the one that carries my pokémon, lad! That static from the ball must have jumbled your brain. A-anyway, it's just the ball sending back some of its contained data at you in order to relieve the excess energy. It's perfectly harmless, although you might feel a little... well... _bestial."_

Tyrell stared intently at his new pokéball. "Say what now?"

"Just some scientist mumbo-jumbo, really. They call it 'reciprocation'," Whiskers explained, obviously doubtful of the theory's merit. "It's sort of like electroshock therapy, but the process implants traits from the pokémon inside the ball onto you. Its supposedly temporary, but let me know if it happens to you. We'll sue someone for the big bucks!"

The new owner instead started walking away from the handlers' little roadside store. "Nah, I'm alright."

"Hey, wait!" Whiskers called after the boy. "Aren't you going to check him out?"

"No... I'm not." Tyrell clenched the pokéball tightly. "I feel the need.. the need to clean. And my essay needs finishing."

"Well the ball is in your name, now, Tyrell. Let me know if anything comes up!"

Whiskers crossed his arms and watched the boy leave. "Huh, the ball shocked him and he didn't even complain. What a cool kid. Knows how to keep his mouth shut." The handlers returned to his crowd of coworkers and customers. Another shady deal under his wide belt.

* * *

Honestly, Tyrell's tiny apartment wasn't even dirty.

At least, to the untrained eye; Tyrell suddenly saw kneads in the carpet of his living room, kinks of porcelain that had accrued dust in hidden spots, and even areas around his narrow kitchen that hid crumbs in their crevices. All he had for cleaning was the bare essentials, but he felt compelled to work with what he had.

Letting out the live creature he had just purchased wasn't even an option. Dirt and grime revealed itself everywhere. Letting out the mienshao now would be dangerous. At least he convinced himself that it would be. The layers of clean never stopped. And like tee ball, it wasn't about making it clean, it was about the effort put into it.

Whatever spell possessing him wore off eventually. "Whoa, that was straight odd. Did I do all of this cleaning?" Suddenly, he remembered something a little more important. "Oh damn, my new mienshao! I've got to introduce myself and probably also feed him!"

Scrambling for the red ball on his kitchen counter, he ran over and slammed a hand on the release. White noise polluted the room, until a slender form appeared face down on the carpet. The mienshao groaned and adjusted itself, obviously unaware that it had been released. If Tyrell remembered correctly, earlier pokéballs didn't stimulate their guests very much. They couldn't see the outside world or do much more than rest. His tongue stuck and he smiled, kicking his hind legs as if he was running in a pleasant dream.

"Yo," Tyrell said cautiously, "what's up? Sorry for keeping you in that ball for so long. Total party foul."

The pokémon's red eyes cracked open slowly, trying to figure out his new surroundings. When he saw the carpet, however, the peaceful awakening turning into a total freak out. With a deft roll it launched itself off of the carpet, flung into a handstand, and curled over the nearby couch. He gaped and pointed at the spot where his head had been, as if the couch sailed amid a sea of filth.

"Dude, that's not groovy!" Tyrell said. "Why are you being so insulting? I just cleaned it."

A shaky paw continued to point at a damp spot in the carpet. "Th- f_shaooo?!" _It was upset to have woken up near such a thing.

Tyrell wasn't. "That's your drool." The mienshao had jumped at the sight of something akin to its own shadow. "You were having a rad dream. I bet pokémon dreams are insane in the membrane."

"Mien, mien," the pokémon replied, getting off of the couch. To prove its toughness, it jumped over to the kitchen, slid over the counter and grabbed some napkins.

"Ha, sweet, you ain't afraid of a drool spot!" It sounded sarcastic, but Tyrell meant it. His experience with pokémon, considering he lived in Unova, fell far below expectation.

The comment made the mienshao stare at him. He dropped the napkin on the spot and stomped it, as an experiment. In return, he earned an enthusiastic golf-clap from Tyrell.

Trying to outdo himself, he snatched the broom leaning against the wall, spun it around, and slammed the spot. "Mien!" He cried and rolled back when the handle broke into splinters, sending wood shavings down on the napkin and surrounding floor.

"Sick. For a domestic, you're pretty brutal when it comes to cleaning. Wait... what time is it?" He ran over to the PC near the couch and saw the time in the lower right: _10:13, P.M_. "Harlem Hopscotch, I have an essay to finish!" At 11:59 P.M, Tyrell's story would have a harsher end that any average Cinderella story.

The mienshao's stomach growled at Tyrell, and so did the pokémon. "Mi-ee-n!"

He went about looking for a food bowl, which Tyrell kept in the closet, in case he bought a pokémon one day. But his house held no pokéfeed to fill it with.

Instead, Tyrell ran into the kitchen and threw open the fridge. "Alright, buddy, fridge is all yours - don't eat anything that will make you sick. Bathroom is in the hallway to your right, door to the left." If the neat freak panicked at the sight of drool, something told Tryell that he wouldn't just do its business anywhere. He trusted the mienshao to act decently while he finished the essay.

Before he started, however, he snatched the remote off of the coffee table in front of the couch. The default channel, three, usually got passed up. For now, it was the perfect thing: the Unovan Cleaning Network. "Let me know if you want to change the channel. The way the mienshao looked at him, Tyrell would think that _he_ was the exotic furred fighter. Then the pokémon flashed a toothy smile at his new owner and plopped down on the couch. Regardless of his image, though, Tyrell sat down and went to work on his essay.

An hour of coexistence passed by before Tyrell's essay put him on the ropes.

"Come on!" Tyrell groaned and pushed aside the keyboard. He minimized out of his notes site and went back to his essay. "I just don't get this book. Why does this Marlow guy just start talking for the rest of the book? What happened to the Thames River plot? Why are we in the Congo that has nothing to do with anything?! It's not the main idea if it's just dialogue, right?" Tyrell held his hands against his head, trying to get rid of his essay blues.

"I guess it's okay," he reasoned miserably. "At least I have that job in Virbank. Working near the docks sounds pretty interesting... whoa."

Something incredibly strange happened next. The volume slider on the television shrunk down to a measly ten. The mienshao set down the remote and twitched his ear. He was curious.

"Wow, you can work a remote?" Tyrell asked. His pokémon nodded slowly, setting down his frozen pizza in his other paw. "Are you worried about Virbank? It's nothing. Just don't get too comfortable... we'll be there soon enough. I hope you like the ocean."

The pokémon visibly shuddered and got up off of the couch. His eyes shone with purpose. Tyrell followed his new pokémon until he was looking at the spot of his awakening. A paw pointed down at the area. "Yeah, that's where you got scared of your own drool. Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Shao!" The cry nearly demanded that he figure out the cryptic message.

"I don't get it. You thought that the drool was someone else's. You flipped your lid... but then I told you that it was yours and that calmed you down. The drool isn't as disgusting if its your own..." switches and fuses started lighting up in Tyrell's head, reawakening an outflow of creative thinking. "We're more scared of other people's drool - that doesn't make sense! Why are we so scared of their drool when ours.. ours is just as dirty!"

"Sh-aa-o!"

"Sorry, buddy, I'll get back to whatever you're trying to tell me later. I've got an essay to write." Exhausted by school and hardcore essay writing, the rest of the night passed in a blur.

* * *

The receiver in his pocket vibrated, signaling that Friday had arrived.

Waking up next morning felt very strange. Tyrell felt groggy, confused and slightly terrified. He recalled dragging his cursor over his three page essay and trashing it, but not writing anything to replace it. Or maybe that part happened in a dream - at least, it hopefully did.

Behind his makeshift bed on the couch, the mienshao he bought yesterday slaved over a single pan in the kitchen. By the looks of it, the pokémon tried to keep the cooking on the down low, his head barely showing over the top of the counter.

"Hey, you aren't burning down my house, right?" Caught in the act of breakfasting, the mienshao gaped, spatula frozen in the air. Tyrell ran a hand through his hair and rose from the couch. "Nice, you made over-easy eggs? Thanks, this is a max solid."

Hesitantly, the pokémon pushed over a plate with two eggs towards him. Tyrell noticed that it was the only plate.

"It's cool, buddy. Get another plate. We can go one-and-one." Glad to eat his own cooking, the pokémon pulled out another plate and pawed off an egg for himself using a fork.

They looked outside the window, at the bright day outside. "Sick morning, am I right? Even the birds are bumping. I just can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something, though."

His receiver vibrated again, this time with a message. Tyrell's heart sunk when he read it.

**"New message from Mister Reader, Friday, 7:30 A.M :**

**TYRELL. WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR ESSAY BEFORE CLASS. **

**THANKS A TON,**

**MR. READER."**

"Fshao?" His pokémon asked, peering over his shoulder. A few scrolls on his receiver revealed that his teacher sent messages like this from midnight to three in the morning.

"Malignant mojo, this isn't good at all," Tyrell muttered. "He's using the caps-lock to account for his indescribable disappointment." He ruffled the fur on top of the mienshao's head and ate his egg. "Well, school's at eight. So do what you need to before that." Defeated, Tyrell slumped down and went to change in his bedroom.

Frowning, the pokémon mulled over his egg and watched his owner leave. He swirled around the yolk with a fork, not sure what to make of Tyrell.

"Hmm... er, _shao. _He looked up one more time to check if Tyrell was around, then ate his egg in peace.


	2. Maz versus the Class Delinquent?

**Maz versus the Class... Delinquent?**

What does a person with an antique walkman even wear?

The mienshao pacing around outside of Tyrell's room guessed at a ridiculous amount of white T-shirts and hoodies. The entire apartment lacked true interior decoration, a flag in his book. Instead of painting the stuff around him like most humans, Tyrell seemed like an introvert. Whatever his owner loved, it was kept hidden within the walkman... and probably his internet history.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was the perfect time to flip open the digitized lid on his owner. The darkest secrets of Tyrell festered inside, a sad truth about all humans who used the amazing PCs. Besides that, he loved clicking the buttons.

Even so, things felt strangely wrong compared to his other snoops. Without the mushing of pokéfeed tearing apart his stomach and the smell of old newspapers greeting him in the morning, invading a human's privacy just wasn't justified. Tyrell really knew how to treat a 'mon. On the other paw, Tyrell might be one of those people who tortured pokémon for fun before burying them alive in the backyard.

"According to dateline," he told himself, "thirty percent of all trainers are psychotic murderers. A-and then there's the _Daycare Chronicles_." The mienshao breathed out raggedly and hugged himself tightly. He needed to watch a lot less dateline. "N-never forget where you came from, shiny pokémon of the world," he quoted in a moment of respect. "Never forget."

Regardless of past television traumas, he steeled his nerves and plopped down on the computer chair. A web browser popped open with a double-click. "Time to ride the data highway," he whispered. "Control... plus H!"

Note sites filled up the first page of history results, remnants of Tyrell's battle with his essay. When it came to Wednesday, however, the results became shocking:

**Wednesday, 6:50 P.M: Please, fill me up! Prime filler, _fillitup_**

"Gotchya, scoundrel!"

It turned out to be a math minigame about filling up a loudred. When it became full with right answers (not an easy feat for a pokémon with no fingers to count on), the loudred spat all of the food back out. Then a message popped up, congratulating the mienshao. Apparently, he had donated the loudred's upchuck to relief efforts around the globe.

"Educating yourself and doing charity work in your free time?!" The mienshao growled and clicked out of the tab. "No one's that innocent on their computer. What game are you playing, Tyrell? Well, other than force-feeding loudred." The search continued on strong. The next result came from just an hour before.

**Wednesday, 5:33 P.M: It's just too small! Canhandleit forums, _Canhandleit_  
**

"Forums, the absolute minimum in intelligent conversation. Shame, Tyrell! Haha!"

_CookingDaddy97, _Tyrell's account on the forums, posted a short question on appropriate baking pans for cookies, since his carried an awkward amount of batter, leaving just the wrong amount of dough behind. _InsaneTracy69_ answered and asked about the occasion, which _CookingDaddy97_ responded: "I'm actually making cookies for a friend's birthday. But I need enough for my whole class, of course!"

"According to that Tracy girl's username, this could either be one huge innuendo," the baffled pokémon mused. "Or she's 45 years old." Defeated, the mienshao slumped his shoulder and exited out of the browser.

"Maybe his walkman will have the answers I need. I'm sure his musical tastes can't be that bad."

Mere minutes had passed by before...

_"Sh-aa-o! Mien!" _Consequences were inconsequential; if the trapped pokémon didn't get help, the device around his head would surely kill him.

Tyrell flung outside of his room, equipped with his lucky red hoodie and Autumn-only cargo pants. "Whoa, buddy, what's wrong? And why did it take me this long to put on a new hoodie?"

The sobbing mienshao chose to answer neither of the questions. Instead, he gestured desperately at the headphones over his furry ears. Judging by the song bleeding through the shoddy things, Tyrell knew that his pokémon was in a pickle. "Terrible Tarantismic Tina Turner, hang on for dear life, pal!" An agile swipe by the boy removed the headphones sapping the mienshao's energy.

He knelt down and inspected the crying sack of sadness. "Jamming, 'shao, you got blasted by my soul CD!" Tyrell picked his walkman up reverently, but his pokémon treated it like the Antichrist of burned discs. "It's okay, I promise that Mrs. Jones will release her hold over you one day. You know, it takes a real cool dude to appreciate music like this. You're pretty neat."

As the mienshao nodded and emitted a few more keening cries, Tyrell snapped his fingers. "Yo, I got a name for you! How would you like to ride the love train?"

The pokémon stumbled back suddenly, placing his arms in an X formation. "N... ergh... Mien."

"Whoa, relax! Bad wording on my part. How well can you rock the name Maz? I bet you can do it to the tenth power of _groovy_, little bud." He stood up and picked up his backpack next to the door. "We're going to be late to school if you don't get up." The now-named Maz sniffled one more time and got up, vowing to avoid Tyrell's walkman at all costs. Super sensitive ears didn't help one bit.

* * *

Enjoying the breezy morning, Maz fanned out his sleeves and stretched. Tyrell made no mention of the pokéball, nor any intention to put him back in it. Whatever city he had ended up in, Virbank had to exist on a different planet. Nothing so infectiously dirty and disgusting as Virbank could ever be near a simple town like this.

Cobbled streets gave the impression of an urban city, but it became rural fast. They started at Tyrell's apartment above a pokémart that never got the memo about neon signs. After passing by a few more homes and shops, the trail became dirt - much to Maz's disappointment - and the buildings spread out. It was like a big bang, except for middle-income rural homesteads and 90s urban building plans. In fact, a lot of everything, except Tyrell's computer and receiver, seemed to be seriously behind the times.

Maz considered the chances of time warps before Tyrell stopped, perplexed by something on their path. "Usually," Tyrell thought out loud, "he'd be following me by now. Hello? Apple?"

The mienshao followed his owner around in small circles, helping him scan the fields of plants around them. "Bummer, looks like he found something better to do." But Maz soon picked up scuffling nearby - something was hiding from them, waiting to pounce.

Both of them stumbled back as a quilava launched out of the cornfield next to them. The pokémon tumbled around, skidding to a rough stop in front of Tyrell.

"Tyrell!" There was no use in addressing the human; this quilava obviously didn't know how to speak to humans, instead using its system of guttural cries. "Today, you smell like a new gymnasium filled with car fresheners! I adore this trait of yours!" If this really was an everyday thing, Tyrell should be thanking Arceus for the language barrier.

"And you," the quilava said with a subtle snarl, "smell like the inside of a washed hoodie."

Such a thing warranted no response. The lack of an answer, however, compelled the quillava to fly forward and headbutt Maz in the gut. Both pokémon tumbled down, dazed and nauseous. Maz hadn't taken a hit like that in a long time.

The attacker turned away quickly, sticking up his nose. "I-It's not like I like you or anything, okay? I just felt like headbutting you. I-idiot! My name is Apple, and complementing someone's smell is the highest form of endearment. Try thanking me next time!" Apple scampered down the trail, leaving the gagging mienshao to writhe in the dirt. He turned towards a large building at the next bend which was, sadly, Tyrell's school.

Tyrell himself sat in the dirt, completely baffled by something. "D-did I... did Apple just actually...?" He shook it off and kicked back up to his feet. "Huh, must be my imagination swaggering away to my soul tunes. Or a brief episode of schizophrenia. I'm down with either one."

They walked silently as they pondered their different problems. Tyrell tried to figure out whatever went wrong in that meeting. Maz simply tried to keep his one egg breakfast in. Late to class, the last stretch of their walk yielded no more encounters. Considering its location, it wouldn't have killed the construction workers to spread out the school a little bit. Apparently, three stories up was better than three stories across.

While he craned his neck about to inspect the school flag, which was a purple and green mess, Maz felt something slip around his neck. He spun away from the sensation and shot out his paws, catching Tyrell's wrist as he tried to finish the clasp.

"Yo! I need to put this on, so that the teacher knows you're mine. Also, you'll fit in better with my friends' pokémon, hopefully. Not that you need a social boost, you party fiend!" Maz wondered if this school was part nightclub. It wasn't too far of a stretch, either, with school colors like green and purple. "Your room is the one with a pokéball over it. Have fun, little guy. You're only in high school once. Well, usually."

It was becoming increasingly odd, how Tyrell simply gave him so much freedom. He could technically whip his tail around and lounge on Tyrell's sofa all day. Or maybe even play that fun online game for hours on end. He had gone through starter training before and it was useless to go back in as a domestic.

A contract forged out of nothing, however, kept him walking towards the little room on the side of the school. It was a simple question: _what would happen if I disobeyed?_ Some likely options occurred to the mienshao. Death by Billy Paul. Drowned in drool. Fed to a loudred. A psychotic breakdown just asking to happen.

But something far worse made the mienshao repeat his school days. "I cannot," he told himself through clenched teeth. "I cannot make someone like Tyrell _disappointed._"

* * *

Apple lounged by a set of blocks, staring intently at Maz as he walked into the classroom. The other pokémon quit their chattering and joined in, dropping whatever toy in the colorful room had captured their interest that moment.

Honestly, it was more decorated than a human kindergarten classroom. For the younger students, it was enough to cause an overdose of excitement.

"Yup," the mienshao muttered. "This is going to be a nightmare."

Trying to fit in, he flashed a toothy grin and waved. Switching from faking his language to actually speaking it was easier said than done. "Hi, I'm Maz, Tyrell's pokémon. I'm a domestic, so I'd really like to avoid unnecessary fighting. I like cleaning and long walks on beaches with paved paths... hello?"

Even worse than being bullied, all of his new classmates went back to their day immediately, ignoring the new addition. "I'm being ignored," Maz squeaked. "This is exactly like my first time through school. Minus the swirlies." Even pokémon took porcelain dives every now and again. Luckily he was big enough to avoid getting swallowed up by the things.

"What do you mean, first time?" A tiny voice chirped. "I didn't even know it was possible to be held back. You must be a huge overachiever." Maz looked down to see a tiny chikorita greeting him. She smiled and shook the leaf on her head.

"Eek, sorry, that was rude. My name is Clover. Your trainer is friends with my trainer! Since you said you're a domestic, I'll probably have to get over my overwhelming urge to strangle you before we can really get to know one another."

Maz smiled. "Well, my name is Maz. Thank you for making an effort to-"

"Can I strangle you with my vines now?" Clover asked. "Let's engage in airless, violent battle."

The simple fact was that pokémon loved to fight. Not to the death, Arceus forbid. Just enough to get the blood flowing, or sometimes to make it stop for a bit. In fact, part of the allure humans created came from their uncanny ability to make fights as exhilarating as possible. Differentiating between animals and pokémon became easy, if portrayed in this way: dogs sniffed butts during introductions. Pokémon liked to maul each other, as was currently happening to Maz.

"I'm sorry, so _very_ sorry, please excuse me!" Clover yelled pleadingly. "But my favorite kind of strangulation is non-consensual!" Maz hacked and coughed as the vines tightened around his new collar, cutting off his air. Not that the air of a hot room filled with pokémon was something to be missed all that much. No matter what was taken away, though, the mienshao refused to fight back. He had taken a vow, and nothing would make him break it.

Thankfully, the vines broke before he blacked out. "Clover, you must resist your urge to thrash the poor newcomer!" A black blur flew across the two vines, cutting at their green sinew. The nerves contained inside them gave Clover a jolt, forcing her to retract them.

A brightly colored chatot perched himself on top of the chikorita, proud of his handiwork. Maz certainly appreciated it, gasping air back into his chest. "Foolish chia pet! Picking on a poor domestic like this."

"I don't grow grass out of my back, bird brain." Clover huffed and wiggled the bird off of her, sending him into the tiled floor.

"Hello, newcomer, how goes it?"

"Fine, t-thank you," the mienshao answered.

"Good, because you have some serious proving to do!"

"Whatever it is, please have mercy. I'm, er, incredibly brittle and I bruise like a peach, honest to Arceus-"

The chatot planted a wing on Maz's jaw, closing it shut. "Relax. My name is Fellow, and I am your public relations manager for this Friday. Now you may be wondering what that means," the bird said, pacing around his client. "Well, see how all of the other classmates started ignoring you?"

He nodded. "I did. It's because I'm a domestic, isn't it?"

A blue wing flew across his face, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. "We're not racists here, pal. You just need to prove yourself with an act of pure delinquency."

"Oh Arceus," Clover groaned, "this old scam. Listen to me, mienshao, he's about to make you do something incredibly stupid. Also, is it okay if only one pokémon consents to the choking? Can I consent to choke you?" The teacher was a lovely little woman, who simply sat down at her desk and pointed to the board. Friday meant free day for all pokémon in class. If he didn't take a chance, he'd be unpopular all week. Maz's little heart just couldn't take the thought.

Fellow, impatient for an answer, tried to slap him again. A paw streaked out at a startling speed, catching it inches away from its mark. "Tell me what I must do to be proven. No sacrifices or murder, though. Last time I tried that, it didn't go over well with my teacher."

As he released the wing, a smile grew on its owner's face. "See that quilava over there, stacking blocks like a simpleton?"

"Yeah. He headbutted me this morning. Strange dude."

"My trainer and I watch the anime every Thursday, a sacred rite talked about in the bible - don't ask for specific pages. This cur has imposed himself on our special bonding time. As everyone knows, Kyo Sohma belongs with the female they call Tohru Honda, no relation to the truck. My trainer says that this is the true relationship."

Maz crossed his arms. "Yeah, and... so what?"

"Apple started flapping his chops, that's what! He said that Hatsuharu Sohma and Kyo belong together." That was worth a violent shudder of disgust, somehow. "Because of this, I hate every fiber in his stray body. I want you... I want you to push his blocks down! Topple his dreams for messing with my trainer's vision of drawn characters on the television box!"

"This really doesn't seem to be worth fighting about," Maz admitted. "Who cares about what he thinks, if it isn't true? Apple said my trainer smelt like a gymnasium; his imagination is _very_ active."

"Stop giving subtle commentary on the anime and _do it._ Or I'll let Clover have her way."

"My conscience says no but everything else says yes!" Clover cried. "Does that make it right?"

Finally, the newcomer gave in. "Fine, it's just some stupid blocks. I'm sure he won't mind."

One toppled tower, two chomps on the thigh, one ignited ear, a bruised shoulder, a nibbled arm, a punched eye, and a time-out punishment later...

"I minded that a lot. Why would you do this to me?" Apple asked. After the tussle, the nice teacher chastised them both and sent them into the hallway, to a void known to starters everywhere as the _shame pen. _No matter the age or type of the pokémon, putting the word _shame_ in front of anything made them terrified beyond words.

The poor quilava looked genuinely distressed. If he hadn't sadistically assaulted Maz just a few minutes ago, the mienshao could nearly fell bad for him. "Stacking blocks keeps me nice and strong. That's why I won, by the way."

"You won because I don't like fighting," Maz muttered. "I c-can't believe that I'm in the shame pen. I'm a good mienshao. Fellow put me up to it so I could be popular."

The quilava scratched his ear and sniffed the air disdainfully. "Wrong. You are a block killer, all because Fellow's trainer is wrong. The cat and cow belong together! Also I've decided that you aren't allowed near Tyrell. I don't like you."

At the mention of Tyrell, his laughter suddenly filled the hall. "W-wait, really?!" He asked from behind one of the doors. "I didn't get a bad grade on my essay, Mr. Reader?" Both pokémon jammed their ears against the pen, fighting for the best spot.

"On the contrary," said a man who desperately needed to blow his nose, "this is by far the best paper in the class! I was reading some of the submissions last night when I came across it. What inspired you to link together the two different settings, with absolutely no knowledge of the historical context? Are you an omniscient being sent to me as a sign? Is your kind benevolent?"

"Believe it or not," Tyrell answered, "I have a mienshao now, and he flipped his lid over some of his drool..." the student dived into an emotional account of appreciating other people's drool and accepting responsibility through equality. It left the teacher sobbing with pride.

"I'm just glad to know that you're finally clean," Mr. Reader said between nasally sniffles.

"I never did drugs, Mr. Reader."

"Sure you didn't. Like Moses, you were taking two of everything before I saved you with my guidance. Perhaps your ride on the magic dragon has led you to the reading rainbow, my child. Keep it up, and you might have the grades to become a trainer!" Maz clenched his paws, anticipating Tyrell's response.

Silence filled the hallway for awhile. "No. It was just a swaggy break, home teach. I'll keep myself set on Virbank, sorry..."

Maz flung around and swatted the air. "Damn it! Not Virbank."

Apple followed him closely. "How convenient for the both of us. You don't want Tyrell to go to Virbank, either?"

"Virbank is hell. Prolong exposure to its disease-ridden streets will kill me. Even dust here ticks me off. I... I think that Tyrell might be a decent owner. But if he moves to Virbank, it's _sayonara. Bon voyage._"

"Please don't cast magic spells on Tyrell, you he-devil." The mienshao flinched away from the quilava's paw. yet all the pokémon did was pat his back. "I want him to stay too, for my own reasons which are better than yours. Perhaps with our combined handsomeness and intelligence, we can change fate."

Maybe Tyrell's open-fridge policies were in a paw's reach, after all. Maz grinned and turned towards Apple. "Got any plans?"

"Are you telepathic or a certified exorcist? Preferably both?"

"Um? No."

"Well, thanks for throwing a wrench in my best laid plans. You're so obstructive and incompetent. You're smothering me!" Apple hissed and swatted at him angrily. The mienshao dodged out of the way, pinning himself against the colored pen's wall. "I can't take the failure anymore, Maz. I want to be a winner again."

"We've been in cahoots for all of ten seconds."

"Ugh, fine, I'll get you some friends so your depressing social life doesn't drag us down. I can smell your loneliness from over here. Or that's the blood under your bandages. They are oddly similar smells."

"You can really do that for me?!"

"Like, major duh. I have to say though, exorcism would make this much easier. Nonetheless, enough shaming in this pen. Let's get to breaking the ice."

The quilava unscrewed the latch to the pen and gestured for Maz to follow him. With all of the gumption he could muster, the fire type stomped his way into the room and released a cry that pierced the free day clamor. "Lend me your ears! My friend and I have returned from the shame pen, alive. It's all thanks to him!"

All of the classmates finally took a good look at Maz, sending pleasurable tingles down his spine. They murmured their appreciation quietly.

"But wait," a rattata objected, "he's that new domestic! I bet he cried the entire time."

Apple smiled and rubbed his chest with a paw, then winked. "Ah, I expected you to be stupid, but not this stupid. Can't you see that the most impressive 'mon in our class isn't the best battler... but the _worst?!"_

"Explain yourself, lunatic!"

"Heh, I'm not from the moon, moron. And answering that question is pretty easy," Apple bragged. "If a rabbit slept within a pride of lions, we would all call that rabbit fantastic, wouldn't we?"

"_Thief!"_ Fellow squawked madly, flying at the quilava. "That from the special anime time my trainer and I share, you can't just steal from it in order to pimp out your friend! I will end you - _cacaw?!_"

Maz snatched the squabbler out of the air by his beak. Paw trembling as Fellow tried to resist, he gave the bird a good, long look. "I am nearly popular," the mienshao begged. "Do not ruin this for me. Got it?" Fellow nodded frantically and Maz tossed him to the side. Several pokémon cheered, including that chikorita who chocked him earlier.

None of that impressed the teacher, though. Understanding his destination, Maz raised a single paw and walked back out the door.

"Looks like it's back to the shame pen with me. The teacher sees me as she wants to see me: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. The truth is, I'm more than your normal delinquent. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Fellow wiped a tear from his eye. "Those quotes are from some of my favorite anime that my trainer and I watch! B-beautifully executed, Maz!"

Maz looked back at Apple and smiled. The strange, smart quilava returned the expression. Life here wouldn't be half bad... if he could only find a way to keep it.

* * *

**Author's note: Pairing references brought to you by google. All other quotes as well. **


	3. Maz Versus the Big Reveal

**Maz Versus the Big Reveal**

"And behind the boxes of unused fertilizer, our cleaning crews found our hoarder's pet cat."

Maz gasped and slid back on the couch, hoping such a thing couldn't be true. That cat had been lost for weeks. Unless animals ate fertilizer, the viewers at home were in for a terrible shock. The mienshao clamped down on his sleeves while the camera panned over the boxes.

"That's right, viewers. The cat, precious to our hoarder... had been dead for weeks." Eerie music came to a screeching halt as a cat's dying meows took over. Flies above one of the boxes represented the poor, killed creature. Its owner clawed at the wall of cardboard, trying to save the creature she had neglected.

Nothing was worse nor more personal than the emergence of the show's title: _Hoarders of Virbank._ The cat killer would be their neighbor and the entire stinking place their home. Smells of sewage and dead dreams, accented by the stench of squalor around the gym. Sweaty grunge rockers would try to pet him... and to take his claws to use as guitar picks.

He still remembered that fateful day he first encountered Virbank. The fat businessman, Whiskers, let him out for some fresh air.

He would go in and out from gagging. Usually, if the sensation of disgust stopped, he'd realize what he was laying in - radioactive gutter sludge. Maz yelped and begged until Whiskers put him back in.

Suddenly, something touched his shoulder. "_Shao!" _Tyrell saw his pokémon's swing and ducked under it. When the other paw came out, he avoided that too.

"Whoa, bad Maz! I warned you about watching this show, okay? This thing, like, never happens."

"Viewer," the television declared, "five out of ten Virbank homes are owned by hoarders. The others harvest organs for the black market. Statistics not proven."

"Horrible hoarding humbug," Tyrell cursed. "It's only noon, you don't want to cry all day, do you? Wait, where are you?"

The shower faucets rained down on the mienshao, who just couldn't wash the filth away. At a single coin flip, he'd be missing his health or his kidney - if they harvested those.

"Man, please, my friends and I are meeting up at the diner!" Tyrell begged. He shut off the water and started to dry the pokémon off. "It'd be so cool if you could come. If you're worried about the other pokémon, Miss Jones says that you're cool as ice. All pokémon pick fights their first day of school. Don't you want to play with Apple?"

Nearly twelve hours had passed without any kind of plan. Instead of lying in the street preparing to be roadkill, Maz could be productive and find the quilava. Just leaving the house would be enough to summon him to Tyrell's heels. The mienshao winced as Tyrell wiped his face, but a blurry scar passed by his vision. He followed his owner's wrists, seized with curiosity.

On experience alone, he could identify the wound. But Starter's school also taught lessons about it later in the year. From what he saw, it was straight in, going for the important stuff.

Tyrell tugged his arm away and petted him. "Yo, that's old news. Don't worry about it. Let's bounce! It's going to be the coolest, hanging out with you and my friends at the diner. I was afraid I'd never get the chance until I moved to Virbank."

* * *

Just as the mienshao predicted, Saturday worked a lot like Friday for Apple. The only difference was that he greeted Tyrell at the bottom of his stairs. He spun around in a circle, unable to occupy himself in the few seconds it took them to descend.

When Tyrell hit the last step, Apple made his move. He gave the human's sneakers a good lick. "Tyrell!" Apple cried excitedly, "your shoes taste like a fresh tire from the mechanic's shop! I would eat them if they weren't yours and also on your feet!" The quilava looked over at Maz inquisitively. He took a step forward.

"W-what in the world happen to smell being the best complement?!" Maz asked, backing away.

"That's Friday, stupid. I rotate daily."

"There's five senses and seven days in a week, though!"

Apple pushed him down forcefully. "That's your opinion, you can't prove it." Maz cringed as the quilava licked his paw. After doing so, he stalked away and yawned. "You taste... like you discovered something and need to talk to me about it privately." His owner laughed dishearteningly at the scene, not realizing how uncomfortable it made his pokémon. Meeting with Apple again had upset him, like it did yesterday.

That taste, however, was mysteriously spot-on. "Okay, how'd you do that?"

"I don't know, it usually happens when I feel jumpy. Last Thursday morning, Tyrell's breathing sounded like he'd get a good friend soon. I was hoping I was the friend, but it was you. Let's just get the talking out of the way before I remember to hate you for that." Apple helped the mienshao back to his feet and caught Tyrell's attention. "I take him this way," he said, pointing at a nearby alleyway.

No answer came back, at first, because Tyrell was too stunned to speak. "How is this happening again... am I not imagining this? O-okay guys, I'll meet up with you at the diner. Don't let Maz get lost, got it?" The kid walked on, his walkman not breaking through his contemplative walk. Maz kept his eyes locked on his owner as Apple dragged him into the alley.

Immediately, Maz didn't like their location. The dark place smelled rank. A mess of a bed laid next to a tall dumpster. Just sitting on the airy thing would probably release a plague on the entire city. Simply being there made him want to start swinging and growling. "Yikes," the mienshao said, "this alley is a total dumb compared to the rest of the town."

"I live here," Apple told him nonchalantly.

"No way, that can't be possible. You'd come out a total wreck! And what about your trainer, why not live with him?"

"Firstly, I don't have a trainer. I like to pretend that Tyrell trains me, but now that you're here... I should get a new story." An apology for that seemed fitting, but Maz stayed quiet. It wasn't his fault he was bought, after all. "As for the smell, I burn it out. Like humans need to boil the bad stuff out of the meat. Their stomachs are wimpy."

The mienshao was still skeptical. "But you go to the school. That's asking to be rounded up."

When the air inside the pokémon bed flew out, it nearly knocked Maz out with its nastiness. Apple played around with the top of it, putting tiny nicks in the old stitching. "We have an agreement. Tyrell made it for me after my trainer went away. "

"Where did your trainer go?"

"I'm done talking about this, now. Sorry, Maz."

"It's alright, you can tell me."

Apple shook his head. "Keep bothering me about it and I'll bite you a lot." Not too keen on the idea, the mienshao took the recommendation. "Don't you have something to tell me? Unless I licked you the wrong way."

"Firstly, that's awkward," Maz said. "Also, it's Saturday now and we've done nothing to stop Tyrell."

The fact deserved a little more panic, but Apple only rolled around on his bed. "We have until the end of the school year. That's when Tyrell graduates. I don't like working very hard... unless you already have a plan."

Of course he had a plan to stop his imminent death by Virbank. "I'm going to reveal it to him," Maz explained. "That I can speak to humans. Then I'll tell him that my secret's only safe here. He'll have no choice but to find work here!"

He had completely lost the quilava. "Wait, you speak human talk? Are you sure?"

Maz cleared his throat and flashed a smug grin. "Check it out," he said, abandoning his pokémon cries and growls. The bed _fwooshed_ as Apple skittered away from the talented mienshao. "It started out with only a few words. During my life I've just picked up more wherever I could."

Both confused and excited, Apple pounced, pinning Maz to the floor. "Ah, cut it out! You were just on that bed!"

"Tell Tyrell that he smells good! Tell Fellow's trainer about the anime! Tell Miss June that I need more blocks! Tell everyone everything for me, please!"

"No can do, pal. The moment I go around speaking human, they'll all collapse on me - I might as well kiss my chances at a peaceful life goodbye." Seeing his attacker's sad expression, however, made him tack on a flimsy promise. "But I'll try to be subtle about it. Just let me ensure that Tyrell stays here."

"Yay! I can't wait to stack up a ten block tower."

"Me too, I'm really thrilled. Now can you _please_ get your mangy fur off of me?"

"Oh, I'll show you how I get rid of the smell. I simply build up my heat, and..."

It took a second too long to foresee what the quilava would do next. He wiggled about, the flames on his back building. Maz felt the heat on his chest rise. "Apple, I'm still under you! Earth to Apple! _Please don't do it-_"

* * *

"Honey, that quilava and your pokémon are here!" A woman called from behind the diner's counter. "Oh dear, looks like they were scuffling. Your mienshao has soot all over his chest.

A gang of students, their pokémon and an elderly woman were the only patrons of the diner this noon. Most of the pokémon hid under the table, waiting for the rare scrap to fall to the ground. Those bored of that game simply went over to the bowls of pokéfeed and ate that. Clover, the chikorita with seriously mixed signals, waved a vine at him threateningly. Fellow was too busy ruing Apple's birth to notice the new class delinquent.

Tyrell pushed out his chair and stood up, trying to get a better look at his mienshao. "Aw rats, Maz. Did you try to push him around again?"

The traumatized pokémon had his shock chipped away by embarrassment. He averted his eyes and let out a single "_shao"._ He tried to wrap his head up with his sleeves in order to block out the resulting Apple, whose fiery cleanse worked wonders for his fur, couldn't help laughing at his victim. "Shut up," he squeaked. "This is your fault. You could have landed me in a pokécenter."

"Could of, would of, should of, but didn't." That constituted as an apology for the reckless quilava. Maz had to wonder if his relationship with Tyrell made Apple passive-aggressive. He watched as his 'friend' dashed over to the counter towards the young woman working the counter. A long whine trailed behind him. "Feed me."

"Aw, so cute! I'll get bowls for them in a second. Let me clean off your pokémon, Tyrell. Tarota will butcher me if I let soot get all over the restaurant."

The elderly woman at her table of two chuckled. "Tarota ought to let up on you, lass. Back in my day, though, she was just as bossy. Guess some things can't be helped." How he didn't notice it before was odd; the old woman was the pokémon teacher, Miss June.

"_Excuse me, _sis?!" A rough lady came out from behind the grill, obviously not happy with the comment. Small plumes of cigarette smoke followed her. "Move aside, April, I've got a hussy to deal with." Tarota set the cigarette on the counter and straddled over it. By the time her feet hit the ground on the other side, Apple had taken it, happily nibbling on it.

He cracked it in half in his mouth, more curious than satisfied. "It tastes like the batteries Tyrell uses in his walkman. Also, I think part of it might be poisonous. Oh well!"

"T-the cigarette," June cried, pointing frantically. "Tarota, he has your cigarette in his mouth!"

"Put a sock in it, June, it's one of those e-cigarettes. Unova doesn't allow the real stuff. Damn things aren't working, so I might as well quit. Darn animals can take getting stabbed, but a little tabacco smoke? _God forbid."_

"Electronic or not, the battery's going to make him puke all over your diner! And why relocate to Unova if you hate it here?"

"You were always trying to get the best of me, June. Didn't you smoke before? That's right, you students, Miss June is a major smoker..."

April petted Maz's head, catching his attention. "Let's just get you sorted out while they sort themselves out." On her way to the back, she gripped Apple's jaw and tried to wedge out the remains of the e-cigarette. "Give!" She commanded. "Bad quilava. Release. Let go."

"Fine." Apple hissed and stopped chewing on it. "I don't feel too good, anyway..." he groaned and stumbled away, the bad tastes catching up to him. "Have fun mingling, Maz."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After using the sink for dishes to rub off the soot, Maz felt like a new pokémon. Smiling, he gave a grateful _mien_ to April and went over to Tyrell's table. He slipped under it, passing by a skitty and Clover. His friends were all wowed as he popped up on the other side. Tyrell pulled him in close and scratched his ear.

"Wow, I can't believe I'm seeing a mienshao in Aspertia. They're so exotic!" The schoolgirl's get up was fairly ridiculous. She had a a myriad of badges buttoned into her green vest. They weren't gym badges - unless one of the gyms chose to have a street be their logo.

"Thanks, Kelly. I named him Maz."

"That's a good name." Leaning over her plate, she reached out towards his face. "I remember reading that a mienshao's whiskers are extremely sensitive to light touches." To test her assumption, she softly stroked one of his whiskers. Being a mienshao, Maz knew that was true. Even so, he couldn't help jerking back, unable to take the tickling sensation left behind. "They say that a trainer who connects well with his mienshao can pet them with just the right amount of pressure."

A clean-shaven boy stood up, his form oddly resembling Whiskers. His demeanor, however, told Maz that the big student wouldn't ever expose him to Virbank. "Man, who cares about that? I saw a web series about kung fu mienshao. I bet that he descended from a long lineage of princess guardians. I'd like to see him fight my chatot. That'd be wicked!"

The fourth person at the table, a messily dressed kid with a small frame, groaned. Tyrell shook his head. "Sorry, Tobi, but he's domestic. Remember, I told you that over the phone?" Maz loved the attention, but he still needed to eat. He tugged at his owner's sleeve.

"Shao?"

Catching on quickly, Tyrell began to dig around in his pocket. He pulled out a good amount of pokédollars. "Alright, pal. Here's 1000 pokédollars and a menu. Go order something that you can share with everyone." Maz grabbed the money, not really sure what was going on. His friends weren't to clear on Tyrell's intentions, either. "Yo, don't worry about it! I'm your owner, spotting you is one my responsibilities."

Maz shrugged and slipped back under the table. Spotting the skitty, he stopped for a second to say hello. "Hey there. I'm getting human food. Do you want anything?"

"Hi. T-the cook lady makes really good chicken fingers. I j-just want one. Thanks." The skitty backed up against the small boy's legs, too nervous to ask for more.

Hearing the news, Clover and Fellow ambushed him. "O-oh hey," he said. "I'm getting human food, what do you want? Nothing too expensive, though."

Clover smiled, then frowned. And then smiled again. Slowly, her vines started to extend towards him.

"_Clover, no!_ Bad!" The chikorita winced and stopped at the sound of Kelly's voice. "Sorry, Tyrell, she's still really young. She can't help it."

Foiled again, she laid down and sighed. "I wanted most to see you go unconscious, and that's free. But I guess a leaf bowl thing wouldn't hurt."

He rubbed his throat, relieved that vines weren't around it. "Fellow?"

"Tuna, rare."

"What?"

"I'm an entrepreneur of human food, please don't scoff at my orders."

"Firstly, the word you're looking for is connoisseur. Secondly, you'll dry out the tuna if you go beyond medium rare."

The colorful bird smacked him across the mouth. "I only go for the most valuable of tuna! I won't settle with an averagely rare piece of meat."

Not willing to argue, Maz nodded and walked towards the counter. It was the chatot's own funeral. He rubbed his mouth with one paw, clinging to the money with the other.

"Dude!" Tobi laughed and pointed at the slouched mienshao. "My pokémon just wrecked yours! Fellow totally made a servant out of him." Kelly glared at him from across the table. "I mean, uh... Fellow, behave yourself!"

"Oh my god," Kelly breathed. "your pokémon's actually doing it. He's ordering food. I thought that you making a joke." They watched as Maz pointed at the various menu items that would add up to both his budget and their wants. "Tyrell, that's extremely abnormal. What else has he done since you bought him on Thursday? Tyrell, hello? Are you alright?"

Tyrell continued to stare at the mienshao jabbing at the menu, trying his best to make April understand. Tarota leaned on June's table, postponing their argument to watch the spectacle. "Yeah... something's odd around here. He likes to watch television, and he cooked breakfast on Friday. Is something wrong with that?"

"The first one, not really. Fellow's just as addicted as Tobi. As for the latter one... some bird-like pokémon try to chew up food and put it in their trainer's mouths. They don't _cook_ breakfast, though."

The owner of a bird pokémon confirmed this. "I like convenience as much as the next guy, but..." Tobi sighed. "Fellow really crosses the line when he tries that. Is that all he did, Tyrell?"

"He checked out my internet history."

Kelly nearly choked on her pancakes. "I was getting ready for school," Tyrell explained, "and I checked up on him. I found him sitting at my desk, playing that loudred game. He seemed flustered about it, too."

Tobi shook his head. "Man, those games are for babies. Didn't I tell you to download P_okémon Fire Wars? _

The green-vested girl had a different reaction. "Tyrell, there is seriously something up with your mienshao," she whispered.

Finally, after minutes of staying quiet, the small boy chipped in. "Maybe pokémon are more intelligent than you think, Kelly. You all just want to see them as animals because you're ridden with guilt, for making them fight each other."

Kelly scowled as the skitty jumped up into her owner's lap, a chicken strip hanging from her small mouth. "Tyrell, please don't let your domestic pokémon make you as preachy as Walden." She turned to Walden and breathed in. "For your information, Walden: since humans occupied Unova, its landmass has increased by five percent. Natural resources have increased by twenty percent. Pokémon battles help boost the ecosystem. Fire types refresh fields, for example. They're sort of like the pollen of Unova, and we help carry them around. It's a beautiful thing."

Walden shook his head and stroked his skitty. "So that's how you see our relationship? Pokémon are just using us to make Unova grow? How would Clover feel about that? Also, being a student ranger doesn't make you right about everything."

"You are so annoying! When did you get so opinionated?"

"When did you?!"

"Argh!"

Thankfully, a boy burst through the door. He dropped to his knees, exhausted from running. "I'm so sorry I missed our get together!" He panted, trying to put it all together. "Daté just started freaking out. He... phew. He wouldn't stop pulling me back to him. He keeps trying to tell me something, but he can't get it across. I'm so worn out."

Tyrell gestured for him to come over. "It's fine, Sky. We can all stay a bit longer, right?" The small group nodded.

Daté, a grizzled grovyle, followed close behind him. Unlike his trainer, the run hadn't winded him at all. "Vyle." With a hard tug, he picked up his trainer. Maz and the others stared at the duo, eating the food they had ordered. "What are you all looking at?" He growled. "Keep stuffing your faces."

Fellow frowned at his tuna. "My tuna is far too dry to do so, Daté. You are quite the entrepreneur, Maz. Sorry for slapping you."

"_Connoisseur,"_ Maz replied. "Hey, your name is Daté, right? Why don't you come and eat these chicken strips?"

"I survive off of tree bark and the surrounding humidity," the grovyle grumbled. "I won't allow luxuries to weaken my pallet." Even so, he went over and sat down. "Hopefully they hurry this up."

They did; after a few minutes of chatting, they started worrying about beginning their research assignment. Sky apologized again for being late, Kelly made up with Walden, and Tobi insisted again that Tyrell download _Pokémon Fire Wars. _As they left, Tarota followed them outside and spotted the remains of her e-cigarette, hacked up among other things, on the side of her diner. They all waved nervously as she cursed the quilava's name.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Back at the apartment, Maz knew that it was time to put his operation into effect. The idea of speaking human to a human put butterflies in his stomach. But Tyrell and his friends were already suspecting him due to his reckless behavior. Tyrell's loose approach to owning a pokémon had made him reckless. Now everything would be let out of the bag.

He spotted the back of Tyrell's head behind the computer chair. For the last hour he had slaved over his new assignment, trying extra hard to play up to Mr. Reader's expectations. "Now or never," Maz whispered to himself. With steeled nerves and steady breaths, the mienshao rushed towards his trainer.

"Oh, there you are, Maz." The mienshao froze and tugged on his sleeves. "Do you know what today's date is?"

Now was his moment to shine. "September Twenty first," he answered in clear human-speak.

Tyrell typed in the date in his assignment's header. Any minute now, Tyrell would realize what had just happened. At any moment, a connection would be made...

"Uh, hello?" Maz asked him. "I can't hide this any longer. I needed to reveal this to you."

"Reveal what to me?"

Wasn't _he _supposed to be doing the confounding? "Tyrell... I can speak human."

"Yeah, I know. It's cool, your secret's safe with me."

"What?! How do you know?"

"After getting shocked by your pokéball, I had the sudden urge to clean. And then on Friday, I suddenly tuned in to Apple's lingo. I never knew I smelt like car fresheners. Anyway, if I got your urge to clean, I had to also get that from you. So I assumed that you must be bilingual, because that's what happened to me."

So he had figured it out early - big deal. All Maz needed to do was put forward his fake plea. "Please," he wailed dramatically, "this is the only city I could be safe in. If you move to Virbank, people will find out and try to make me into a freak show!"

Tyrell turned around in his chair and placed a hand on Maz's shoulder. "Pal, that's a no go. Your my pokémon, and I won't let you be scared of the outside world. I promise I'll keep you safe, no matter where we go." The boy yawned. "Maybe tomorrow, though. I'm going to throw in the tower for tonight. Keep the T.V down, please. I have a basketball game tomorrow."

As his owner walked away, the foiled mienshao played with his sleeves nervously.

"Tyrell?"

"Yeah?"

"You're being way too cool about this?"

He replied with a chuckle. "I don't like dwelling on stuff like this. You're a cool pokémon, Maz, speaking or not. You'll make this the best school year ever!"

The mienshao waited until Tyrell had entered his bedroom before he began to grind his sharp teeth together. "Damn it, Tyrell," he snarled. "I'm not letting you go to Virbank."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A grovyle, climbing around on a pokémart sign, unwrapped himself and fell to the ground. The fall was by no means little, but he absorbed the shock like a pro, rolling expertly with the impact. The owner of the pokémart gaped and dropped his broom in surprise. Daté only scoffed and walked away.

He had a good feeling about the mienshao the instant he saw him, but seeing him in action only made him seem like more of a godsend. A pokémon with the capability to speak to humans. Perfect for delivering messages. Besides that, the mienshao definitely had something up his sleeves. No domestic had a physique of a trained fighter.

Luckily for him, the others were too caught up to notice. He _did_ notice, however, and was glad that he did.

"I'll be watching you," Daté promised. The light from the pokémart's neon signs illuminated his face. "You _will_ help me... Maz."


	4. Maz Versus the Laundry

**Maz Versus Laundry Day**

"H-hello? I'm... I'm speaking to the Unovan Cleaning Network. right? I'm a gigantic fan."

"Yes, you've reached the Saturday night cleaning sale on your phone, which I bet is ridiculously polished."

Maz paced around his favorite couch and leaned down, trying to contain his excitement. The employee wasn't too happy working the night shift, but it didn't really matter; finally, after all the hoops, he would have his own vacuum cleaner.

"Oh, ha, well not _perfectly _polished," he chattered. Over the phone, he could brag to his heart's content. "I only got halfway through that episode of _Polly Polishes_ before my trainer... my _parents_ intervened in my 'cleaning addiction'."

On the television set, phone agent number seven hunched down and sighed. It proved that the call was legit. "Wow. Sounds like a bunch of losers. I'm glad that you're still with us." Even if it was obligated, the empty tone made him feel fuzzy inside. "Are you interested in our-"

"_Y-ee-ss._" Maz breathed heavily into the little holes in the receiver. He stroked the silver beast rotating on the screen. "The 22-stage harmonizing system for filtration, the multiple nozzles and length adjustments for _infiltration_. I seek the dustroyer."

More hemming and hawing from the employee buzzed in Maz's ear, making it twitch uncomfortably. "Okay, I'm going to tell the truth: I don't really care."

"Heresy!" The enthusiast snarled back. "It traps harmful allergens and particulates in a void of filthy despair. So powerful, so supple, you could go back in time and stop the dust bowl with this baby." Number seven shuddered as the caller whined desperately towards his dream vacuum. "Even if its energy source demanded my first-born child, I would happily rise up to the occasion! It is my current _god!_"

It took a second for both sides to regain their composure. "I think that it would just be easier to warn the farmers, but sure!" The fawning energy was too infectious, too realistic, that it nipped any further bitterness in the bud.

"Victory is so hard to come by these days, it's almost like a commodity... billions of _losers,_ _losing _lamely! I can hear their collective cries, yet watch as my dustroyer and I rise above it; dust may be a common enemy, but so are indigenous people to conquerors! I just can't wait to be king..."

"The Dustroyer costs 25,499 pokédollars, s-s-sir!" Number seven shot out of his chair, earning him a few glances. "Do you have a Unovan I.D with compatible purchase methods ready? We'll buy them together, t-to conquer dust, and then the world!"

Maz laughed menacingly and whipped out a weary slice of plastic. White teeth gleamed, as clean as his rotten house would soon be. "It's not mine, though."

"Hehehe... I won't tell if you won't." He flashed a stolen card of his own towards the camera. Using the dummy card that would transfer the hefty sum, number seven and Maz entered the info on the card. "Okay, Tyrell Chillingfoot from Easygoer village, we're almost done."

He laughed, eyes shining in the blue glow of the screen. "I can almost taste the green polyester-wrapped handle."

Number seven returned the twisted chortles. "Okay, now I just need one last thing." The prepared thief whipped out of a picture of Tyrell, who was about to be out of nearly 26,000 pokédollars.

"Oh, by the way, all T.V purchases require fingerprint confirmation, instead of a photo. Apparently the government is concerned about identity fraud... no clue why. Just place your thumb on the right part of your receiver."

"W-what?"

"You've spoofed your card owner's fingerprint before lifting the I.D, right?" No answer. Only heartbreaking silence. "Wow, you must be a total amateur! Heh, looks like you'll be the Narváez to my Cortés. Thanks for your guidance though. Dust bunnies, my name is-"

_Click._ The rectangular screen turned red to signify a terminated call. Maz fell on his knees, allowing both the picture and the receiver to tumble along with him. "T-that's not fair," he said, reaching pleadingly towards number seven. The traitor didn't even try to help... he took the dummy card out and placed in his own stolen I.D. "We had a connection, a real bond."

"Maz, I'm home from basketball!" A tuckered voice called, slamming the door behind him. It was Tyrell. "Uh, Maz, you in here?" It wasn't Tyrell's fault, Maz told himself in between the usual sobs of the cheated. "Damn, would it kill him to tell me when he goes out for once? He even left the set on, what an uncool move!"

Tyrell caught sight of Maz, who laid on the crumby carpet in front of his favorite couch. "Oh, hey. Tired of sleeping on the couch?" Even after basketball, Tyrell still had the energy to straddle the couch and scoop up the receiver and his I.D.

"Dude, you found my I.D and phone? That's a total solid." Missing the silent heaves of his friend, he plopped on the couch. "More cleaning channels, I see... whoa. Maz, check that out. They're arresting that guy on live television! I wonder what he did."

The pretty brunette selling the vacuum proceeded to excuse the disruption. "We are so sorry, callers, but one of our employees in this very studio was caught using a stolen I.D. S-see how the dustroyer cleans up both dust _and_ criminals? What a great value!"

"No," the arrested man cried, "Let me go!" He broke free of the security guards and made a break for it, knocking over the saleswoman. "The last caller pushed me to this! I'm going to get you, just you wait!"

"Aw man," Tyrell groaned, "you were trying to buy stuff with my I.D again, weren't you?"

"Life is unfair," Maz whined. "I just want to clean the world."

"You're a _mienshao,_ dude! You don't need a job. It's _my_ job to make sure you have fun." The brunette chuckled nervously and stroked the green handle of the dustroyer. The slighted mienshao stretched a paw out towards it. "But if you ever do find a job you can do... I'll support you all the way."

As the exhausted mienshao fell asleep, the seedling of a new plan formed in his head.

* * *

Caught within the stimulating task of stacking blocks, Apple hardly perked up his ears at the sad story. "Oh. And you didn't get the vacuum cleaner in the end?"

"No Apple," Maz snapped, "I didn't! Could you pay attention for once? These are the stories that will fill my heartfelt memoirs that shall make millions of readers cry!" The mienshao leaped forward and put his paws on the bottom pieces of the quilava's tower, causing the structure to collapse into a heap of large cubes.

Realizing what he had done, Maz backed away slowly, paws raised. "Apple, now just keep calm. I didn't mean to do that." The quilava picked up a red block and rolled it about in his paws. And then it was hurtling towards his friend's face, knocking him right in the nose. "Yeowch! M-Miss Jones, anyone, help!" Some of the other classmates watched as the quilava took him down.

"You will regret the day of your birth," Apple promised.

"W-what if I told you that I have a plan to get Tyrell to stay?"

The claws scraping his sides retracted. "So I might not want to eat this couch potato just yet. It better be the best plan ever."

Prideful of his plan forming skills and simply glad to finally have one after a week of sitting around. "Apple, I'm going to get a job."

The claws shot out again. That idea didn't sit too well with Apple. "That's not possible. Humans have to do a lot of stuff to get their money. First, one of them brags to the other. Then they use stuff like thumbs to do things that prove their worth. You won't talk to humans, and you're kind of worthless." Maz winced at the stinging insult. "Sorry, that was the block-madness speaking. Anyways, this hurts you more than it hurts me." With a quick slash, Apple left a long cut in the mienshao's side.

Before the other scuffling could begin, something began to peel Apple away from his revenge. "What, no! Whoever's lifting me better stop." Desperate to continue his torture, Apple dug his claws into the mienshao and held tight. Maz yelled and tried to pull the quilava back down.

Miss June finally noticed the situation. "Oh, for crying out loud, you three! Now I have to call my sister to get the blood washed out of the carpet." Anyone experienced with pokémon knew not to panic when tussles became bloody. Unless it was the old circle of life working in the wild, pokémon wouldn't kill or maim another pokémon. Of course, their scuffles still left a mess. "Maz, come. Apple - shame pen, now."

The two ducked down guiltily. Miss June pointed at a third troublemaker though, and the entire class went into a small panic. "I can't believe it, but... Daté, follow Apple to the shame pen." The grovyle nodded and walked towards the door. He was the unwelcome guest that had lifted Apple up. Trouble and the grovyle never mixed, apparently, because June seemed genuinely surprised.

Daté himself seemed nonplussed about it. He looked back at Maz as he walked out of the room.

* * *

Since posing as a delinquent helped soften the blow of being one of two domestics in the class - the other one being Walden's skitty - Maz's first week of school involved lots of light high jinks. Apple joined in on the fun, so they spent a lot of time together in the pen. The new addition made them both skittish.

Apple started to break the ice. "So, you may be wondering why I gathered you here today."

Daté exhaled and leaned over the edge of the pen. "You didn't gather us, we just got into a fight."

"That's the joke. June placed us in the pen, but I'm acting like I planned this. It's not that funny."

"Well if that's what you call humor... ha, ha, ha." The two pretended to laugh about the joke neither of them liked.

Apple nudged Maz, who laid in the other corner of the pen, attempting to take a quick nap. "Can I claw out his eyes now?" It wasn't a real threat, but sharp leaves suddenly slipped out from the grovyle's wrists. That definitely broke the ice for the two. "Oh, you really want to fight? I'll punch a few holes in you with my teeth. Put 'em up!"

He didn't turn around to answer the challenge. "Relax. It's a habit. And I'm not here," he said, finally leaving his spot, "to battle - as fun as that sounds. I'm actually here to talk to Maz about his plan."

Maz got up and scratched his head. "Are you talking about my plan to get a job?" He ran over to the grovyle, getting in close. "W-what do you think of it?" Daté didn't immediately slash him, so he continued. "All I need is access to the laundromat at night. You know, that clothes cleaning place for humans-"

"I know what a laundromat is. How would you possibly get a job out of that?"

Operation Laundry went a little like this: Tyrell showed concern one Tuesday about the owner who lived above the business. Ernest of Ernest's Laundry hated coming down to help people operate the machines everyday. Maz and Apple - at least, before Apple gutted him without listening to the plan first - would sneak into the laundromat at midnight, Tyrell's dirty laundry in tow. Once inside, Maz would use the machines, and the owner would find out.

A low grumbling began in the back of Daté's throat and he pushed his hands against his eyes. "How does that help you get a _job?!" _

"Hearing your full plan makes me want to cut you again."

"Agreed," the grovyle said.

"W-well, you guys weren't listening! If the owner sees me using the machines like a pro, he'll pay Tyrell to keep me in the laundromat. So, you know, he doesn't have to explain the machines!"

Luckily for the desperate mienshao, the two began to reconsider once all the pieces started connecting. "Okay, it's not the stupidest plan I've ever heard. I see one more problem, though: we don't wear clothes, and we don't do laundry."

Apple let out a terrified yell and curled up in the corner. "Maz, I'm naked in the middle of school! Ah!" He turned to Daté and grinned. "See? Another joke."

Either the grovyle started to want something, or the shame pen had warmed him up a little. "Yeah, I noticed that time." He gave an amused scoff and turned to Maz. "Sit this silly thing out, Apple. Breaking into the laundromat is a cinch for me. You'll have to work the machines. I hope you're a quick learner, or else you'll just be a pokémon rummaging a laundromat.

"A chance at keeping Tyrell in Virbank is nice," Apple whispered to a shocked mienshao. "But I don't think it's worth the chance of getting caught."

To him, it was. The law had no way to deal with crime like this. A human breaking in to clean clothes would be odd enough. "If we don't break anything," Maz explained, "Tyrell won't have to pay anything if we get caught. I'm just wondering, though... why are you helping me keep my owner in Virbank?"

"Your owner?! Just rub it in my face, scum_!"_ Apple yelled. "Oh, and that's a pretty good point."

The grovyle jumped over the edge of the shame pen. "My trainer and I were out all last week camping and nobody noticed. I just want to make some friends. Meet me in the alleyway next to your house at eleven. Have everything ready."

Apple leaped onto the pen and watched him leave. He showed off his canines to the grovyle's back. "He knows that you talk human and that there's an alley near your house. Since I like you, I'll give him a taste tonight."

It should have been obvious to Maz that Apple's sensory fortunetelling played by its own rules, but he still had to ask: "aren't tastes on Saturday?"

"There are only five, so I do taste three times. It's my favorite sense. See you tonight." The quilava broke out of the pen and walked back to class. Right at the door, he jumped with a sudden realization. "Huh. I wonder if I could get a job, too..."

"What did you say?"

"I forgot already. See you!"

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Just like Daté commanded, Maz woke up in the dead of the night and borrowed Tyrell's laundry. He had help unloading the basket through the window, so the chances of getting caught were low. After everything was at the bottom, he tossed down the detergent and climbed out after it.

Apple presented a single black sock to him. "Can I have this one? I want to help in the cleaning effort. Oh, and some of that cleaning stuff, too."

The black sock was hardly visible against the backdrop of the nasty alley. "It's not about the cleaning, but I like your enthusiasm. Not sure how you're going to do it, but- _Apple, no!" _Given all the confirmation he needed, the quilava took the sock and swallowed it whole. Before Maz could really object, he had taken the lid off of the detergent, a swig of the stuff already gone with a _gulp_, "S-stay calm, Apple, I'm going to go and get help!"

"If it's too yucky, I'll just burn it inside my stomach," Apple explained. He started to jump up and down with short, erratic hops. "I've seen these washing machines in action, Maz. If I clean and dry this one-ended cloth tube, Ernest will let me be one. Leave this sock to me. First it bounces a bit in this way. _Wrrrrrr..._"

Just as he promised, Daté ducked into the alleyway and picked up the bag. They took several seconds to watch the natural washer go to work. "Should I be asking about this?"

"And then it changes motion to rotating." Apple rolled in the alley, trying his best. "_Fwshhhh... _I might be part washer, I'm really good at this! My family was in the laundromat all along."

"We could try shoving some of the boy's sweaters down your maw and see how you work then," Maz hissed. "Good work - now he's out one sock!" Their green helper had left with the rest of the clothes, so the mienshao luckily couldn't follow through. "And you didn't even lick him."

"I've found my calling in life," Apple stopped rolling and went back to jumping. "Can't you be happy for me? Or are you _jealous_?"

"_Bye,_ Apple."

Ernest's Laundry wasn't too far from the pokémart. Maz caught up in a minute of searching, spotting the bag left under a street light. Also illuminated by its very edges was a green flash, soaring towards the second story window. His hand stuck to the wall as if they were made of green glue. Daté quietly pulled the window open and slithered through, his expertise found in the complete lack of noise throughout the break-in. In a matter of seconds, the grovyle had tracked his way through the two-story building and opened the place up. The impressed mienshao picked up the bag and smiled at him. "Good work."

"Yeah, sure. Just make sure you don't step on those tiles."

He stepped on those tiles. It was like the friction in the room had been sucked away. All of his mienshao grace couldn't save him from slamming head first into the middle row of machines. Clothes rained down on him like a blanket. "Your smooth fur will not find any traction here."

Maz giggled and covered his smile with a sleeve. "T-thanks. I worked on it all Sunday night."

"Shut up and start unloading." It reminded him of his days as a youthful mienfoo, learning how to walk. Claws getting snagged, legs splitting out without warning... it wasn't easy. Even so, he managed to pick out a machine to fill. He decided that the blue goop belonged on top of the clothes inside, and shut the lid. "That's that, then. Now it should start spinning?"

"Yes."

"Any minute now?"

"Uh oh, is that an I.D reader? Do these things cost money?"

Daté didn't have nearly as much trouble with the floor. "I swear to Arceus, if you dragged me into this building for nothing-"

"Gotchya!" Tyrell's I.D card shimmered when exposed to fluorescent light. With a few jabs of his paw the deed was done, a good wash costing way less than a vacuum - and much easier to buy, too. "You should have seen the look on your face, Daté. I'm a serious whiz with card pranks. One time, I even got this guy on T.V arrested." The buttons on the washer lit up. "I think I'll press _whites and colors_. I'm not one of those 'mons, ha."

"What a waste of opportunity. Your human-like behaviors, your human speech... if you willed it, they would listen. Pokémon here wouldn't be carted around from battle to battle. Communities, kingdoms... freedom. Yet here you are, trying so hard to stay with a human."

They sat against the row of machines behind them, watching the spin cycle do its work. Any moment, now, Ernest had to hear the noise coming from his store. "What do you mean, here? Where are you from? Maybe things just work differently from place to place."

"Ignore what I said, I misspoke. I only wanted to know why you'd rather slack than make a difference."

Maz closed his eyes, barely keeping awake. This had to be at least four hours after his usual bedtime. "Apple wants to work as a washing machine. One that, in his free time, scuffles and fights with his friends. And at night gets to tell Tyrell all about it. Damn, I'm jealous. He really knows how to dream."

The machine only spat out a quiet hum, surprisingly. At least there was a flustered grovyle to help the process along. "But _why _is that good? You won't tell me because you can't!"

"Just give it a little time, pal. We'll get it out."

"...Get what out?"

To answer, he stood up and waddled around, trying to stay balanced on the slippery floor. "You know, that stick!" Daté, instead of snapping some more, finally gave up with a chuckle. "Does it hurt? 'First we must set up pokémon-only cities... _hnnnnggg..._ and fight for pokésuffrage and pokérights - _urg... hng... _oh?'"

Ernest arrived, an old baseball acted as his security system. "Hey, you two hooligans aren't those magnemite sapping my stuff, huh?" He adjusted his small pair of glasses and took a second look. "Oh, two of you, eh?"

The mienshao stood in the middle of the aisle, obliviously anticipating a reward of some kind. "M-moment of truth..."

"Why, I've got to start putting a little sense in these boys. You two, come."

"D-damn it!" Daté roared and broke out of his sitting position. "Maz, I can't get brought in for anything."

"What are you talking about?! I told you, he won't arrest us! Where do you think we'll go, _poképrison? _Don't pull anything, I'm warning you!"

Vines started to extend from Daté's shoulders, making Ernest stop his grumbling. The old man went on the defensive, backing away a few steps. "I'm sorry. I'm going to knock him out so we can make a break for it."

Just as the vines stretched towards their mark, Maz flew across the width of the aisle, smacking the grovyle across the mouth. He flew into a nearby machine, catching himself with a gentle landing. "You can't stop me on this floor, Maz!" Infuriated by the stinging in his jaw, the grovyle screeched and kicked off of the machine, sending himself hurtling at the mienshao.

Maz twisted himself into the ground, laying himself flat in a split second. As the grovyle and his leaf blades crossed over him, he snapped out a sleeve and trapped him. The confident attacker was now drilling his way into the tile. If he had a smidgen less of experience, the move would've easily snapped his neck. As opposed to that fate, Daté looked like he had an encounter with a tile porcupine. He legs scrabbled under him, their connection to his head chaotic and frayed.

"You fool, are you trying to kill me?! This isn't life or death, stand down!"

"I can't help it, Watch out!" The only thing that stopped the mienshao's forceful paw was Ernest's bat. The wooden thing skewed the blow and sent it plummeting into the ground.

"Down, boy! You got 'em, boy, settle down!"

"C-can't!"

"What's going on, Maz?! Maz, no! Bad!"

Maz's paw stopped its windup. Daté thanked the legendaries and laid against the cool tile, trying not to focus on his head wounds. Just in the nick of time, Tyrell ran in with Sky and Apple. "T-Tyrell, let me explain-"

"_Daté!" _Sky cried. He slid over to his pokémon's side as Ernest peeled Maz away. "Tyrell, your mienshao did this! Why? H-he's bleeding so much, we have to get him somewhere!"

"Relax, son," Ernest told him. "Your grovyle got a little spooked when I came down. The exotic fella panicked in a way of his own - pokémon don't stomach the idea of hitting humans to well. Would rather bash each other instead. He's not even close to dead, son, and I'm sure that both his trainer and him are plenty remorseful."

Remorseful was an understatement. Maz started to pull away the pieces of tiles. Even Apple, who hadn't done anything, tried to lap at whatever wounds weren't too gruesome. "I d-didn't mean to take it that far, it's just..." the mienshao clenched his eyes shut, unable to look at his handiwork. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me."

"No, I understand. Without any interruption, I would've sent that old human falling into this tile." After experiencing it first hand, he knew how dangerous that would have been. "But you've got to l... ugh. Pull back your blows a little. You're due to kill somebody with moves like that. Went a little further than knocking that stick out with that reversal." Apple didn't seem surprised at all by the development. A domestic wailing on a healthy grovyle had to be at least news to him.

"I know. I'm going to make it up to you, okay? I'll make you love the h-hell out of Aspertia!"

Even in a frantic situation like this, Tyrell knew how to avoid adding kindle to the fire. He hid his knowledge of their talking well. "Looks like they're making up," he said. "Sky, let me help you get him to a pokécenter. It's the least I could do-"

"You need to get that mienshao checked," Sky shouted. "Maybe even put down. _Domestic_ my ass!" By no means weak, Sky pulled his grovyle around him and struggled his way out of the laundromat. "He's a maniac, Tyrell."

Not only had he nearly killed a pokémon - in a situation where none other than Daté would have survived - he had ruined Tyrell's friendship with Sky. Apple tried to comfort him with a black sock. "Look at this," he said. "I washed and dried it all by myself. I couldn't wait to show it to Tyrell, and one thing led to another. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. If you hadn't brought Tyrell here, Daté would be..."

_Ding._ Tyrell walked over and peered into the foggy inside of the washing machine.

"...Is that my laundry in there?"

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Ernest said that it reminded him of his youth, and trying to get his own pokémon to do chores. Tyrell, being himself, accepted full responsibility for the situation. The damages were covered by the eccentric insurance policies obtainable in Unova, Apple's sock hardly earned more than a laugh out of the laundromat owner.

As for Sky, the next three days saw a considerable improvement in his attitude towards Tyrell and Maz. For some reason, he even tried to apologize for overreacting - Maz would argue otherwise. They settled their problems, but Maz missed out on the terms, too tired to listen for too long.

So, by the end of their venture, nothing had changed. Except for a mienshao, who crouched up in the corner of his owner's apartment. He wanted to make himself as insignificant as possible, so Tyrell wouldn't feel pressured to notice him. There were unspoken rules across all pokémon, wild or captured. Maz lived and breathed by them; most obeyed, yet he followed.

For the last seventy two hours, he had refused any kind of food or drink. Whenever he felt like falling asleep, he fought it with all of his might. He took those rules very seriously. Never harm humans. Don't kill other pokémon unreasonably. If he couldn't live by them, he didn't have the right to live. Pokémon also weren't supposed to maim or kill themselves, but he was doing it to protect Tyrell and his friends. Aspertia was the straw that broke the camel's back - he couldn't cope with the world. Besides, Tyrell had allowed it, so he had to be regretting his purchase.

An optimistic owner thought otherwise. After three days of depression and silence from his trainer, Tyrell's receiver nudged its way in front of him. A message glowed on its screen.

**New message from Tarota's Diner, Thursday, 3:20 P.M:**

**I was a little dubious of your suggestion, at first. So I went to ask my stinking hole of a sister. **

**She laughed in my face about the idea of employing a mienshao to help me in the kitchen, So he's definitely in. I'll have prissy June's lips plastered on our asses in four business days. Just send him in whenever you think he's out of that slump.**

**Thank you,**

**Tarota**

**P.S: where the hell will I put the hairnet? Can you maybe shake him up and see where he sheds the most? If worst comes to worst, I'll just say that mienshao fur brings good luck.**

"Tyrell, take it away. I don't deserve that." He shuddered and knocked the receiver away. "Sky was right, I need to be put down."

"You don't need anything like that, pal. Please don't talk like that." He got up and picked up his receiver. "Oh, by the way, when are you going to stop with the act?"

The mienshao uncurled a bit and looked at him. "What act, Tyrell?"

His owner smiled. "Apple busted you. He promised that you'd never let yourself just starve. It's against a code, or something. Plus... you wouldn't leave me like this, right? I understand why you did what you did. As your owner, man, I'm saying it's fine." He gripped Maz and shook him about playfully. "Now get up, or I won't feed ya!"

"All this time, I thought you were ignoring me, or waiting for me to die. I-Instead... you were giving me time to think. You never panicked. Do you... really trust me that much?"

"150 percent trust, Maz. You promised Daté that you would teach him to love Aspertia. Even at your worst, you know what's right - that's cool. Now are you going to go out and break a promise?"

The two sat in silence for a while.

Maz's stomach grumbled, finally recognizing its emptiness. Tyrell laughed and brought his pokémon close, squeezing him. The mienshao cried out happily and returned the gesture. No matter how much he tried, he would never break that third rule. Even in the past... he held out, waiting for someone like Tyrell.

Who now tried to put a little distance between them. "Dude, no offense, but you really reek."

"S-sorry, it's a pheromone to stave off curious pokémon."

"Yo, it's working. Phew! Please go shower."

The mienshao curled up closer. "O-one more minute?"

"Fine, but you'll have to do my laundry again. You are permanently banned, though..."

Maz chuckled softly, enjoying his owner's soft hug.

"...How do you feel about natural washers?"


End file.
